


The Bright Boroughs

by CracklPop



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Dom Peter Hale, Dom/sub, M/M, Sub Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-20 23:34:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20683781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CracklPop/pseuds/CracklPop
Summary: On the distant planet of New Tellus (which is improbably similar to Earth because your author is lazy), Stiles Stilinski, a HaleTech assistant, and Peter Hale, head of HaleTech R&D, find over the course of an evening that they are surprisingly well-matched.





	The Bright Boroughs

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or make any money from them.

Stiles was halfway across the massive HaleTech lobby, walking slowly with the exhaustion of a long workday and a longer work week, when his attention was caught by a low-voiced argument somewhere to his left. Curious and not in any hurry to start another predictable weekend, Stiles paused and sidled over to one of the lush, flowering potted plants that lined the lobby’s main corridor. He angled his body behind the planter, staying hidden so he could more effectively—and shamelessly—eavesdrop.

“…told you _and_ your mother that just because I’m the great white whale of the matchmaking industry it does _not_ mean I’ll go on any agency date your friend flings my way.” 

Stiles tilted his head, looking past an enthusiastically blooming magenta to see that the speaker was a tall, well-built man in his thirties with a flawlessly tailored suit and a sharply handsome face currently twisted into a scowl. His opponent in the disagreement was an athletic-looking woman close enough in coloring and appearance to be related. 

“What on New Tellus does mythical aquatic life have to do with going on an agency date?” the woman demanded, confusion and irritation pinching her features. 

“I find it extraordinarily difficult to believe my sister paid for anything more than the most basic government-run education for you and your brother,” the man snapped. “When I reference classic literature—”

“Not everyone is an Old Earth fetishist,” the woman retorted. “Derek and I both attended highly prestigious universities in Juno—”

“Yes, yes, you and Derek both learned all about how to properly file HaleTech taxes and talk shareholders into voting your way,” the man sighed. “Listen, I appreciate the way the _entire family_ has come together to force me into an agency-approved match, but I’ve lived thirty-six years on this planet without being appropriately matched, and I expect I’ll continue to be fine even if I never find anyone to tie myself to.” 

“Uncle Peter….” The woman, Laura, rubbed her forehead tiredly. “We want you to be happy.”

The man snorted, the inelegant sound a charming juxtaposition with his impeccable appearance.

“I’m sure no one would _object_ to my happiness, true,” he said drily. “But let’s be honest: You all care more about the black mark I put on the Hale family’s image than about my finding a true-love miracle. Deviant, socially deficient Uncle Peter, refusing to fulfill his duty as a citizen of New Tellus, remaining defiantly single despite all the resources money can buy. Blah, blah, blah.” Peter rolled his eyes. 

“I know it can be…difficult for—”

“Oh, give it a rest, Laura,” Peter said. “Now, I’m going to spend my Friday night having emotionally disengaged sexual relations with a stranger. I suggest you run along home and enjoy life with your expertly designed family.” 

Laura made an offended noise and stomped off, her high heels clacking loudly against the glossy tile floor. Stiles leaned against a nearby pillar and bit his lip. As inappropriate as it might be for an employee of HaleTech, Stiles was sorely tempted to be the _stranger_ the sarcastic, much-older Hale in front of him planned to hook up with. 

Stiles watched Peter Hale frown at his watch and tried to remember what he’d heard about the man: Head of R&D at HaleTech, but never accused of gaining the position through nepotism. Relentlessly single, despite the significant social pressure everyone on New Tellus faced to settle down and build a family unit. 

Stiles wished he could see Peter’s ID bracelet. Then again, Stiles didn’t wear his at work, either. 

It was one thing to openly display his designations at a club or bar, or when out with his friends, but Stiles was reluctant to let people at work see a submissive identification. 

Stiles tapped a restless finger against the edge of the magenta planter as Peter began to walk toward the exit, then made his decision.

“Hello,” Stiles said, falling into step next to Peter. “I’m headed to that bar across the street”—Stiles nodded in the direction of a discreet sign that said Red Ruin—“and I wondered if you’d like to join me?” 

Peter turned to look at him, annoyance and amusement warring on his face. 

“And who are you?” Peter asked, eyebrows raised. 

“Someone entirely unsuitable. I’m more than a decade younger and, as you can see—” here Stiles tapped his HaleTech badge “—I work for your company.” 

He gave Peter a slow, sly smile that promised all sorts of things. Peter glanced down at Stiles’ bare wrist and smirked. 

“Why not?” he murmured, settling a hand at the base of Stiles’ spine and guiding him past the building doorman and outside into the cold, crisp air of evening. 

When they had slipped into a dimly lit booth at the back of the bar, drinks in hand, Peter leaned back casually and fixed cool, expectant blue eyes on Stiles. 

“I haven’t seen you around before,” said Peter, sipping his prohibitively expensive whiskey. 

Stiles, who had opted for cheap Vespasian vodka that likely had more in common with wood varnish than anything Peter had ever imbibed, shrugged. 

“Yeah, I’m just an assistant to a mid-level manager. I’ve only been at HaleTech a few months.” 

“Hmm.” Peter sipped again. “Well, I may as well warn you now: You’re pretty enough for me to play with tonight, but my interests are…specific.” He reached down to his pocket and withdrew his ID bracelet, showing it to Stiles before snapping it on. 

Stiles stared, short of words for maybe the third time in his life. In clear, finely crafted detail were the symbols for Dominant, High-Level. With fingers that shook slightly, Stiles fished his own bracelet from his bag and wordlessly held it out to Peter. 

Peter’s eyes widened, then his lips curved into a pleased, predatory smile. He gestured and Stiles held out his wrist for Peter to fasten on the bracelet. Peter’s blunt fingers ran over the symbols marked there and then tightened on Stiles’ wrist for a few seconds, doubtless feeling the leap of Stiles’ pulse at even the suggestion of restraint. 

“I think we can do better than hand jobs in the bathroom,” Peter said, drawing Stiles out of the booth and abandoning both their drinks barely touched. 

Stiles stuttered out an agreement, his head swimming with anticipation and delight. At twenty-two, he’d only had his officially recorded designation for a year, but he already knew how challenging it was to find a good match for anything deemed _high-level_. It was rare, both in submissive and dominant expression, and anyone high-level whom Stiles had heard of ended up going through multiple matchmakers and more than a few disappointing relationship attempts. In fact, if it weren’t taboo to remain unattached past a certain age, Stiles was certain many of his fellow high-levelers would still be single. 

The depressing odds of finding a good match as a high-level submissive had led Stiles to have a bit of a reckless year, sexually speaking. He figured his future would involve a long, difficult series of matchmaking sessions and dates, since registering with an agency was mandatory for anyone without a partner past the age of twenty-seven and Stiles didn’t hold out much hope for meeting anyone on his own before then. Not with his designation, anyway. 

So Stiles had hit the bars and clubs and co-ed parties with his friends, learning—disappointingly—that sex with multiple partners of various designations hadn’t led to anything but a few flutters in his stomach and orgasms that were less predictable than those he supplied himself. True, there had been a couple of stand-out experiences—a mid-level dominant who had ridden Stiles to orgasm three times before she granted him any relief; a sharp, witty switch who gave Stiles his first taste of subspace—but so far, no one had come close to inspiring the sort of transcendent look Stiles had seen in the clubs catering to people with dominant and submissive designations. 

And here, at last, was a high-level dominant, the first one Stiles had met, ready to take him…somewhere. Stiles shivered and forced his fingers to relax and not clutch at Peter’s as they walked out of the bar and back to the HaleTech parking garage. Peter led him to a meticulously restored car that was fashionably large and styled to evoke the vehicles of Old Earth, with pointed fins and a wide, glass windshield thinly rimmed in silver. 

Peter opened the passenger-side door, helping Stiles in and fastening the safety harness himself. Stiles started to feel a little untethered, a pleasant, almost drowsy sensation drifting over him as Peter fussed with the fastenings. 

“I’m taking you to my place,” Peter told him, tipping Stiles’ chin up until their eyes met and Stiles gave a small nod. 

The drive was dreamy—Stiles stared up through the transparent roof at the stars, which glittered in the dark sky, forming dazzling patterns around Luna and Diana, the moons of New Tellus. The night breeze swept in through the open windows, ruffling Stiles’ hair and brushing soft fingers over his skin. He turned his head to smile at Peter’s stern profile and Peter glanced over at him with amusement. 

“You’re starting to fall already, hm?” Peter smiled back at him. 

“Mm-hm?” Stiles thought _fall_ was right—he wasn’t on firm ground anymore, just floating somewhere nice, where everything was lovely and hazy. At some point Peter had begun stroking his hand over Stiles’ thigh, up and down, and the rhythm of it lulled Stiles as they drove past blurred streetlights that grew farther and farther apart, until they were in an unlit residential area. Peter pulled the car up a long driveway that wound back through artfully composed groupings of tall trees, stopping eventually in a multi-space garage. 

Stiles followed after Peter once they were out of the car, absently noting the night-blooming flowers and fresh-scrubbed cobblestones of the path through Peter’s backyard. Then they were in the darkened house and Peter was putting a glass of cold water in Stiles’ hand, urging him to drink. Stiles swallowed obediently, and became more alert as the cool liquid hit his empty stomach. 

“Still with me?” Peter asked, assessing him. 

“Yeah, yes, sorry. I’m not sure…it’s never happened like that before,” Stiles replied, a faint frown creasing his brow. 

Peter opened his arm and Stiles wordlessly allowed himself to be drawn against Peter’s broad chest. He rested his head on Peter’s shoulder and sighed. 

“You’re very sweet,” Peter murmured into Stiles’ hair, shifting them both a little so he could coax Stiles to lean against the kitchen counter. Peter pulled away with a reassuring squeeze to Stiles’ hand, and Stiles stayed where Peter put him, watching the older man turn on a set of low lights and pull a few things from the cupboards and icebox. 

“What’re you doing?” Stiles asked eventually, blinking at the plate of nut crackers and segments of Shiwei tangerine Peter had assembled. 

“I’d prefer you to pass out from pleasure, not hunger,” Peter informed him gravely. He picked up the plate and led Stiles into a smaller room that held a low, round table with cushions grouped around it. Long, gauzy curtains brushed against gleaming floors and the entire space smelled light and clean. 

Stiles allowed himself to be guided down to a cushion, then watched as Peter sat next to him and set the plate on the table, gesturing for Stiles to eat. The tangerines were unexpectedly sweet, their tiny, juice-filled pockets bursting in Stiles’ mouth when he bit into a slice. Peter ate a nut cracker and offered Stiles more water. 

As he drank, Stiles began to feel a low-thrumming restlessness. It was _good_ to sit next to Peter, to eat food Peter had given him, but it could be _better_. Stiles wanted…he wanted Peter above him, over him, he wanted to kneel at Peter’s feet, press his head to Peter’s knee and feel…safe. He didn’t want to choose whether to eat a nut cracker or a piece of fruit, he wanted _Peter_ to decide, to determine what and how much Stiles should eat. 

It wasn’t always that way, Stiles knew, and there were times it would upset him to be anything less than face-to-face with Peter, but now…now Stiles wanted Peter to show him what it could be like between them. 

“I have my reds,” Stiles told Peter in a low voice, suddenly shy. 

Peter smiled and held out his hand for Stiles’ communicator, already queued up with the electronic version of Stiles’ limits and preferences. And, of course, his safety signal and health records. 

“Here are mine,” Peter replied, handing over his own device. It was a top-tier Nuntius model, Stiles noted enviously. 

“That’s pretty ice,” he murmured. 

“So ice,” Peter mocked the slang gently and Stiles huffed in laughter. 

“Yeah, ice. Old man,” he added with a smirk, his confidence back. He perused Peter’s documents carefully. There was nothing on them that seemed truly incompatible with his own needs and desires, so he handed it back and nodded. 

“I don’t see any problems at this point,” he said. “Your safety signal is _dragons_.” He looked back up at Peter, brow wrinkled. “Is that…like the Old Earth stories?”

The anticipatory gleam in Peter’s eyes was replaced by something simultaneously keener and softer at Stiles’ words. 

“Yes,” he replied, sounding surprised. “And yours, I see, is _sheriff_.” He raised his eyebrows. 

“It’s my dad, sort of,” Stiles explained. “He’s the captain at the Territory Sheriff’s office in Beacon Hills.” 

“We share a hometown,” Peter said. “But you knew that.”

“Yeah. Kinda hard to avoid knowing the Hales in Beacon Hills,” Stiles agreed. “I might even have seen you at a party when I was a kid.” 

“You don’t look like a kid anymore,” said Peter, the possessive light returning to his sharp blue eyes. 

“No, I’m d-definitely…all grown up,” Stiles said, voice gone breathy. 

His eyes fixed on one of Peter’s hands, tracking the movements as Peter picked up a tangerine slice. 

“Eat a little more,” Peter urged, bringing the wet fruit to Stiles’ lips and brushing its juice against that soft skin twice before slowly pushing it inside Stiles’ mouth. Automatically, Stiles parted his teeth and let both fruit and fingers inside, sucking the sweet stickiness from Peter’s skin. 

Peter fed him the rest of the tangerine one slice at a time and Stiles dropped back into the lovely haze of Peter’s fingers and murmurs and touches. When the last segment was gone, Peter shifted over to Stiles, then lifted him with no visible effort into his arms and straightened to his full height. 

Dizzy from the sudden movement, it took Stiles a second to realize Peter’s show of strength was decidedly unusual. 

“How are you…?” Stiles asked, shifting uncertainly in Peter’s hold. 

“I’m the head of R&D at the biggest medical tech business on New Tellus,” Peter reminded him. “You think I don’t have a few biological enhancements from the office?”

“Oh.” Stiles rested his head against Peter’s shoulder and let the words float around in his mind until they made sense. “You’re bio-enhanced.”

“Are you?” Peter glanced down at Stiles curiously. 

“Yeah, I guess I am in a small way,” Stiles realized. He didn’t usually think about the neuro-tech treatments that had fixed his childhood attention disorder as being bio-enhancements, but, properly speaking, they fell into that category. “Sort of. I had ADHD as a kid and HaleTech fixed it.”

“A benefit of being in Beacon Hills,” Peter said as he walked back through the kitchen and started up a set of stairs. “Talia is very good to her people there.” 

“Mmm,” Stiles sighed in agreement. “S’true, I remember my friend Scott’s asthma…and there was another girl who had seizures…can’t think of anyone else.” He frowned, trying to hold onto his thoughts.

“It’s all right,” Peter soothed, carrying Stiles into a large room and flipping on a few lights. He set Stiles down on an expansive bed made with deep green coverings of an impossibly soft weave. Stiles rolled to his side and rubbed his cheek against the material, eyes half-lidded. 

Peter slowly eased Stiles’ clothing off, piece by piece. Stiles obediently twisted and lifted his limbs as directed, until he lay fully nude on Peter’s luxurious bed, skin prickling from the chilled air and his own anticipation. Peter lay the last of Stiles’ clothes on a chair and reclined next to him, close enough for Stiles to feel the heat of Peter’s body but not so close that they touched. 

“I want to watch you touch yourself,” Peter said. “Put two fingers into your mouth to start.”

Stiles flushed. He’d thought…well, he’d thought _Peter_ would touch him. He had imagined hard thrusts, heated kisses, pinned wrists. Not Peter’s coolly spoken directions and impassive expression. Only the gleam in Peter’s eyes gave Stiles the courage to slip two fingers between his lips and wet them. He sucked a little, hollowing his cheeks and glancing over at Peter for approval. 

“Good,” Peter said, and Stiles relaxed slightly. “Now rub the tips of those fingers over your nipples. Get them hard for me.” 

Hearing that _for me_ let Stiles sink into the task. He was pleasing Peter—he could do that. Stiles brushed his nipples gently, the resulting dampness making them peak in the cool air. 

“Keep going. I want you nice and sensitive,” said Peter. Stiles nodded and teased both nipples at the same time, until they were pink and aching and Stiles had to bite his lip to keep from begging for a firmer touch. 

Peter had him continue until Stiles was past the point where he would have ceased the stimulation on his own. But something about the steady, authoritative commands Peter gave him compelled him to keep going, stopping only when Peter told him to, then waiting, hands back at his sides, for Peter to direct him further. 

“Spread your legs,” said Peter. “Good. Touch your thighs. Slowly, that’s right. Now I want you to put a hand on your cock for me. Just rest it there. Good boy, very good. Don’t move, just enjoy the weight. Your other hand can come back down next to you. On the bed, that’s good.”

Stiles, quivering, obeyed, his hand twitching as he resisted the urge to curl his fingers and thrust up into his palm. Instead, he let the heat of his own skin press against his hard prick, keeping it tight against his abdomen. A thin line of clear liquid tickled his waist as it slid down from the red, weeping tip of his cock. 

“Move your hand a little, up and down, very nicely done, yes.” Peter’s words washed over Stiles, guiding and directing and urging, and Stiles blindly heeded them. He moved his palm over his hard length at a torturously slow speed. He ran light fingertips over the flat planes of his stomach, the sharp jut of his hipbones, the smooth skin of his inner arms. Stiles touched and teased and tormented himself for Peter’s viewing pleasure, his mind drifting into a place of softness and obedience and pliancy. 

“Put your hands at your sides,” Peter told him after what felt like a very long time. Stiles didn’t hesitate to let his arms fall to either side, boneless and hazy and ready to do whatever Peter wanted. 

“Good boy,” Peter murmured, lips suddenly close enough to tickle the shell of Stiles’ ear. “Now lie still while I please myself, hmm?” 

Stiles might have nodded; he certainly didn’t object. 

Peter pressed two fingers to Stiles’ red-bitten lips, pushing until Stiles opened his mouth and let Peter in. Peter tasted of citrus and salt, and he traced the contours of Stiles’ mouth like he was mapping every wet crevice, like he had every right to invade. The fingers glanced over each of Stiles’ teeth, swiped over the inside of each cheek, lay on top of Stiles’ tongue for several counts, holding his jaw down. 

Then Peter moved on, wiping his fingers in Stiles’ hair, scratching his scalp and pulling the dark-brown strands firmly before working over with each hand to trace the whorls of Stiles’ ears and gently pull at the lobes. 

Peter loosely closed his large hands over Stiles’ neck for long moments, then continued on with firm strokes over his shoulders, down his arms, back up to take each pink-tipped nipple in a sharp but fleeting pinch. 

He worked his way down Stiles’ body, giving no area any particular attention, his touch more proprietary than lover-like. By the time he reached Stiles’ toes and flipped him over onto his stomach, Stiles couldn’t say he had anything like actual _thoughts_ in his head, just…the haze of opening his body to Peter. 

Peter’s strong fingers tangled in Stiles’ hair once he lay face-down on the bed, then his palms ran over the curve of Stiles’ spine. There was a small pause before Peter’s fingers returned, this time slick with a cold, slippery substance. He parted Stiles’ ass, placing one finger directly over the puckered opening and using the other hand to briefly knead the flesh on either side. 

Stiles distantly heard himself whimper then sigh. Peter made an approving hum, the pad of his finger slipping just inside Stiles’ hole and stretching it with exquisite care. Then the finger was gone and Peter was stroking down the backs of Stiles’ thighs, his calves, the soles of his feet. 

Stiles felt thoroughly inspected, as though Peter owned him and had assessed his property. He knew on some level that his cock was achingly hard, leaking, making a mess beneath his belly, but it didn’t matter. 

“Back over, my pet.” Peter’s voice was quiet, blending seamlessly into Stiles’ dream-like state. He moved with Peter’s helping hands, allowing the other man to turn him onto his back and bring his arms overhead, wrists crossed. “Stay just like that.” 

Stiles made an assenting noise and blinked, trying to keep his eyes on Peter. 

“You’re perfect like this,” Peter said, straddling Stiles’ hips and looking down at him with open admiration. He reached over to place a hand on Stiles’ throat and Stiles heard himself whine. Peter unfastened his pants, then took his own prick in hand. 

Stiles could only watch, mouth open and breathing uneven, as Peter worked himself toward climax. His lashes fluttered and there was a beautiful flush across the bridge of his nose when Peter grunted, his cock jerking and spurting and covering Stiles’ face and chest with milky fluid. 

Stiles licked the salty spend from his lips with something like reverence, his hips flexing involuntarily with the desire for relief. Still he kept his hands where Peter had put them, feeling as though there were invisible bonds pinning him in place. 

Peter smiled down at him and Stiles’ whole body warmed from the approbation in his gaze. Stiles watched Peter refasten his pants, then Peter’s fingers were back at Stiles’ lips, wet with come. Peter fed him every drop and Stiles licked it up without complaint or protest, tongue trying to cling to Peter. When they had finished, Peter shuffled over to Stiles’ side and ran an affectionate hand through his hair. 

“You may move in any way you like,” Peter said. Stiles didn’t know what Peter expected, but an expression of surprise flickered across his face when Stiles immediately curled into Peter’s side, clinging to his shirt with both hands and burying his face in Peter’s neck. 

“That’s good, you’re very sweet,” Peter whispered, wrapping both arms around Stiles and giving him a deliciously surrounded feeling. The closeness did, however, remind Stiles’ cock that it had yet to see any release, and he couldn’t help rutting up against Peter’s hip with a little moan. 

“Would you like to bring yourself off?” Peter asked. Stiles shook his head. 

“No,” he said into Peter’s chest. “Just want to be here with you. Touch you.” 

“Hmm.” Peter sounded thoughtful, but Stiles was still too hazy to puzzle out what the dominant was contemplating. They lay together as Stiles’ body relaxed further and his mind began to come back to awareness. 

He sighed quietly and snuggled closer to Peter’s warmth. 

“Back with me?” Peter questioned, a smile in his tone. 

“Yeah, more with you, anyway,” Stiles replied, lifting his head to look at Peter’s face. 

“Want to reconsider that offer I made earlier?” Peter raised his eyebrows and nudged his leg against Stiles’ still-hand prick. 

“Oh…yes, please,” Stiles answered, flushing. His cock throbbed as he brought his attention back to it, starting to dampen again. 

“You may use my hand if you’d like,” Peter offered, and Stiles didn’t reply, just eagerly pushed into the circle of Peter’s fingers. It was hardly any time at all before Stiles was so close to orgasm his entire body stiffened. “That’s the way,” Peter purred. “Come for me now, Stiles.”

Stiles, helpless to resist, obeyed, his muscles spasming and his cock pulsing out hot liquid onto Peter’s hand. Limp and euphoric in the aftermath, Stiles unhesitatingly licked his release from Peter’s fingers when they were presented to his lips. Peter praised him softly, petting his back and carding gentle fingers through his sweat-dampened hair. 

Eventually, Peter must have cleaned them both and pulled the blankets up, because Stiles stirred at some point to find the room dark and Peter at his back, both of them buried beneath lightweight coverings and free from sticky reminders of their previous activities. 

When Stiles woke again, it was to light streaming through Peter’s pristine windows and an otherwise empty bed. Stiles blinked, taking in the ostentatious but comfortable surroundings. 

“Good morning,” said Peter from the doorway. 

Stiles was struck all over again by how handsome the HaleTech executive was, even in the unforgiving light of the morning sun. 

“Good morning,” Stiles replied, his voice slightly hoarse. “That was…thanks for last night. I don’t think I could’ve gotten back on my own, so…I appreciate it. You letting me stay.” 

Peter looked distinctly annoyed. 

“I’d like to know what kind of idiots you’ve been with that you believe any self-respecting dominant would send a submissive—a high-level submissive at that—out on their own without the proper care.” 

“Um.” Stiles shrugged. “The kind you meet at a cheap club and fool around with for a few hours?” 

“I made tea,” Peter said, apparently choosing to defer addressing the poor quality of Stiles’ earlier life choices. 

“And toast!” Stiles crowed, looking at the tray Peter held. 

Peter walked over to the bed and set the food down on one of the sturdy side-tables. He poured Stiles a steaming cup of tea and handed him one of the plates, which contained four triangles of browned and buttered bread. 

Stiles bit into the toast and closed his eyes in delight as the salty, yeasty flavor hit his tongue. Then his eyes flew open and he dropped the bread back onto the plate, looking over at Peter. 

“Did you…is it okay that I just….”

“You’re not mine, Stiles,” Peter explained, the warmth of his demeanor allaying any fears of rejection. “You can feed yourself. Your clothing has been laundered. You’re free to go whenever you like.”

“Okay,” Stiles replied slowly. “Thanks.” 

He tipped his head to the side, considering Peter’s serene expression. 

“Do you…uh…want to see me again?” Stiles asked, suddenly unsure that the night before had been as good for Peter as it had for him. 

“Stiles, I not only want to see you again, I want to feed that toast to you bite by bite; put you on your knees; put a collar on your neck; and put you so far under you can only remember my name.” Peter paused, looking unexpectedly hesitant. “But even more than that, I’d like to know what _you_ want.” 

“Um,” Stiles squeaked, then cleared his throat. “That. I want that. What you want.” It was his turn to pause, considering his words. “But…maybe not right away? I also want to get dinner and maybe go to the theater. To…know you.” 

“Yes,” Peter said. “That sounds just right to me.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've got a bunch more stuff in this world, but it didn't really fit. Asexual, submissive Derek; happy couple Allison/Isaac; tons of weird slang; random cultural things from the planet being governed by scientists initially, etc., etc., etc. Maybe someday I'll expand this setting?


End file.
